


The Perils of Deduction, or How Mike Pedicone Pulled His Head Out of the Sand

by dapatty, s0ckpupp3t



Series: Oversexed!AU [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:42:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapatty/pseuds/dapatty, https://archiveofourown.org/users/s0ckpupp3t/pseuds/s0ckpupp3t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Pedicone was almost 100% sure that there was some hinky shit going on.  And by hinky, he actually meant kinky.  And by kinky, he was pretty sure the whole band was fucking each other.  He couldn’t prove it, but there’d been plenty of little bits of circumstantial evidence.  Also, he got a text from Pete Wentz.  Something about a betting pool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Perils of Deduction, or How Mike Pedicone Pulled His Head Out of the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely indulgent fluff with a side of porn written as a companion to our BBB Wave One’s Blaming Frank

Mike Pedicone was almost 100% sure that there was some hinky shit going on. And by hinky, he actually meant kinky. And by kinky, he was pretty sure the whole band was fucking each other. He couldn’t prove it, but there’d been plenty of little bits of circumstantial evidence. Also, he got a text from Pete Wentz. Something about a betting pool.

Not to mention all the noises. The moaning, the groaning, all the fucked-out, sex-laden noises that he’d heard, well, pretty much everywhere. And these guys didn’t do groupies. There were no groupies. Distinct absence of groupies, so, in conclusion, cock. Each other’s cocks. And he couldn’t even believe he thought that. And he might’ve been a little turned-on. And a little sad he wasn’t invited. What the actual, ever-loving, fuck?

  
**Evidence the First**   


“Frankie, why do we need to go to Lush again?” Pedicone asked, long-sufferingly. Twice in a month was ridiculous. How much soap could one guy use, even if it was Frank? Of course, Mike felt put out if he had to go to Lush once every six months. He’d rather order it online, like a reasonable person. Not end up in another mall on a scavenger hunt. Not that he was opposed to scavenger hunts. It was just the principle of the thing.

“Because we do,” Frank explained, like it made complete and perfect sense.

“Clear as mud. Great, thanks for that.” Pedicone rolled his eyes just as they turned the corner and finally found the store. The mall’s map could have been significantly less confusing.

“We’re talking soap, dude, focus,” Frank made a beeline for the shower gel display.

“I am focused,” Pedicone assured. “But I’d be more focused and feel more appreciated if some little shit bought me a couple bath bombs.” He stopped in his tracks. “Hey, that’s that toffee smell I’ve been smelling.”

“I bet you want boring Avobaths, right?” Frank asked, giving him shit and not acknowledging any noticed fragrances. Or, implicitly, moans. Huh.

Because all the guys smelled like that shower gel, at least hair-wise, even Gerard. Not that Mike went around sniffing everyone’s hair, especially Gerard’s. It’s almost like Frank was on a mission to wash everyone and he was stopping his train of thought right there, immediately. No good could come from this line of thought.

“Yep,” Pedicone confirmed, pulling himself from his thoughts. “Avobaths would be excellent.”

“That one jasmine-scented one is the shit, though,” Frank said, tossing a couple in his basket that already held a yellow gel something in a large plastic bottle and smelled like toffee. He threw in a couple Butterballs and Dragon’s Eggs for good measure, and three Avobaths.

“I don’t have a problem with flowers,” Pedicone insisted.

“No, you just want to be boring,” Frank said.

“And not end up covered in glitter again,” Pedicone agreed.

“Black Pearl does smell good,” Frank defended, “and I didn’t think it was gonna be that sparkly.”

Frank threw a couple other things in the basket and went to check out and ended up talking tattoos with the cashier as well as cooing- _cooing!_ \- over the yellow toffee stuff.

Paper bags in hand, Frank shoulder checked Pedicone on their way our of the store. “Now, Special FX.”

“I haven’t heard of that store,” Mike said, perking up just a little. The girly errands could be over anytime now.

“It’s hair dye,” Frank chirped.

“Of course it is,” Pedicone trudged along behind him. Of course Gerard would send them after hair dye, because he clearly had no shame. “I think I saw a specialty hair shop a few stores back.”

“You are an excellent ninja! All aware of your surroundings and shit!” Frank beamed.

“Don’t get your hopes up, it’s a fucking Sally Beauty Supply,” Pedicone muttered.

“So long as we don’t have to go to Hot Topic, I’m happy.” Frank smiled, like Mike was the best ninja-personal-shopper ever.

Pedicone smiled back, because how could you not? Frank was totally going to buy him a beer though. Somewhere that didn’t look anywhere close to being girly.

  
**Never Ask Dewees About Food**   


The only reason that Mike had let James get this far with his food tales of woe was because of the sex happening in the green room, which he was afraid would end up back on the bus and he wanted to avoid seeing anyone’s naked ass again. Not unless he was invited, at least. And he was pretty sure it was sex. Or, hey. Maybe they were just making noise to fuck with Mike. He wouldn’t put it past any of them, especially since Frank seemed to be involved in the alleged sex.

“So it’s served as this jelled cube,” Dewees described, making relative sizing gestures with his thumb and pointer finger. “Which is like tofu, but nothing like tofu. Actually, there’s usually tofu in with it. All these little cubes of deliciousness with tofu and a sauce and-.”

“You are still talking,” Pedicone muttered, swallowing, breathing shallowly. “I told you to stop talking. No one actually eats this shit.” He couldn’t believe some of the things the guy was suggesting. He hadn’t even seen some of this stuff when he went to Asia.

“Sure they do,” Dewees looked at Pedicone like he was being close-minded and a little hopeless. “It’s delicious, albeit a little wiggly. You totally have to hold the bowl close to your face to catch it with chopsticks. Well, it depends. If it’s jelled, it wiggles. But it’s also a little coagulated, because, dude, platelets. So sometimes it’s firmer. It’s hard to describe the consistency. Now, tortoise plastron jelly, that’s totally like jell-o. Firm, mind you, like the stronger mix you use to make Jigglers.”

“I will throw up on you. I’m not even kidding,” Pedicone knew he was covered in sweat. He could practically taste bile. “Can’t you talk about worms, like a normal person? Wait, forget I said that.”

“Oh, I so could,” Dewees grinned, looking nostalgic and launching into a story involving nightcrawlers and a quiche, when all at once Gerard jerked upright out of his sleep stupor, causing Mikeyway to mumble and snuggle more into his pillow adorably.

Dewees shot Gerard a knowing look, full of subtext and knowing or something causing Gerard to frown. Or maybe Pedicone was imagining things. He was trying to keep down his dinner and beer, after all. But he was pretty sure he had something to do with the auditory do-not-disturb sign coming from the green room earlier. Of course it had involved Frank. Mike had a new theory: If there was loud moaning, Frank was either involved or wanted to be involved.

The brief interruption didn’t save Pedicone, though. Dewees carried on describing more worm-based dishes, half of which had to be made up. And Mike just couldn’t stop listening, though he knew he’d better. Who would stir-fry that? Weren’t those green and spindly? That would be so chewy.

Pedicone almost missed the good old days when finding James in a bathtub full of Skittles was the most traumatic food-related experience he’d had.

 

  
***Sometimes the Porn Comes to You***   


“What part of ‘the hot water is broken’ didn’t you understand?” Pedicone chided, wrapping another towel around Frank’s shivering shoulders. “Gonna catch pneumonia, and then Jamia will kill me.”

“Jamia won’t kill you, maybe just cut off your balls,” Frank joked. “Besides, Mikey started it,” Frank insisted, teeth chattering, snuggling against Pedicone’s chest, cold nose tucking into armpit.

“Was this some sort of triple-dog dare? Are we in grade school, still?” Pedicone rubbed Frank’s shoulders, trying to create some heat.

“No, he dumped a giant cup of pop on my head,” Frank burrowed in a little more, cold hands sneaking under Mike’s shirt, causing Mike to jerk away at the temperature.

“What did you do to deserve that?” Pedicone asked. Because he’d met Frankie.

“I might’ve poured a smoothie on his lap,” Frank’s hands were stroking Mike’s sides now and they’d warmed up considerably. “Did I ever tell you that you’re hot, ‘cause you are.”

“Did the shower frostbite your brain?” Pedicone asked, but he was smiling. He knew where this was going. It had been awhile, but he still knew the cues. “Pick-up lines, seriously?”

“If we have sex, I might not die from exposure,” Frank said with utmost seriousness.

“It did frostbite your brain,” Mike nodded, grinning lecherously.

“And yet, you don’t disagree that this is a good plan,” Frank chose that moment to tweak a nipple and getting a surprised gasp from Pedicone in response. “Besides, I don’t think we should head back to the bus yet. Just a feeling.”

“Does this feeling involve moaning?” Pedicone asked thinking how strangely focused Ray had looked earlier on his way to the bus.

“I would certainly like to moan, yes,” Frank answered. But that hadn’t been what Pedicone was going for. He kind of wanted to know if moaning was happening back on the bus involving Ray, but he didn’t know how to ask that without sounding like a total creeper. But there were long fingers pulling on the zipper of Mike’s jeans, and a wicked grin in Frank’s eyes. He could worry about the bus later.

  
**Just Don’t Ask What**   


“Well, shit,” Dewees muttered, pulling out his phone and starting a text as he watched Gerard trailing after Ray like some sort of desperately confused puppy. Gerard had been weird toward Ray-weird for even Gerard. Even Mike had noticed. And now there was following with subtext or he’s imagining things.

“Shit what? What shit?” Pedicone asked, taking in the scene, feeling like he’d missed the point. Again.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Dewees sighed, hitting send and sounding relieved. “Hey, you wanna see if that diner across the street has chili cheese fries?”

“Sure. Uh ...did I? Is there...?” Mike trailed off, lifting his eyebrows. He didn’t know if he wanted confirmation that something nasty was about to go on upstairs or if Dewees had sent a text about some sort of betting pool that he still wasn’t quite thinking about.

“Don’t worry about it, Mike.”

Pedicone did not pout as he dutifully followed Dewees across the street. Actually, it was probably good that they were going for food and away from the hotel and whatever loud moans were about to occur. Not that he’d been paying attention. Or keeping a tally. Or considering calling Pete Wentz and having him explain the fucking betting pool. Actually, Jamia would be safer. She’d only laugh at him. Wentz would laugh and then make fun of him on Twitter and Mike was just not in the mood to have Pete fucking Wentz pull his pigtails on the internet.

Yeah, he’d call Jamia when it wasn’t so late and after he’d had chilli fries and when he’d figured out how to phrase everything in such a way as to avoid Jamia taking the complete piss out of him.

 

 

  
**The Better Part of Valor**   


“Dude, they’re both so fucked out, they had no idea I was even in there,” Frank giggled.

“It’s just,” Mikey said, trying not to laugh, “you could be a little quieter next time.”

“Is that Ray's?" Pedicone asked, before he could fully process what exactly Mikey and Frank were doing in the hotel hall at four in the morning holding a pair of underwear. But seriously, should anything surprise him by now? Why was he even out in the hallway. Damned chili fries giving him indigestion. Dewees was evil incarnate, he was sure of it.

"No," they both replied in unison and snickered like two guilty fuckers.

"I didn't see anything," Pedicone nodded and went back to what the fuck he was doing, which was finding either some Pepto or a quiet place to die.

"Here, I think these are Ray's size," Dewees announced, opening the door to their room, as if intuiting the shenanigans going on in the hallway, and holding something. A pink something. Lace was distinctly involved. _God, please let Frank have texted him. Please don’t let Dewees be underwear-psychic. I couldn’t handle that shit._

"Where did you even find a pink lace thong?" Mikey asked, eyes wide at the offending garment.

"In Ray's size?" Frank asked, reaching for them almost reverently.

"They are an important accessory to anyone's luggage," shrugged Dewees. Who the fuck knew what else he’d packed? Pedicone had seen a pinwheel hat poking out of James’ luggage. Not a propeller beanie; that might make sense. Or at least more sense than a hat with pinwheels on it. Fucker was inexplicable on the best of days.

"How do you even _know_ Ray's size in women's underwear?" Frank asked, kind of a little impressed and mortified and grinning.

"I'm magic like that," Dewees then made jazz hands all mysterious like. "But actually, once, like three years ago, there's a story that I am sworn to secrecy not to tell. I can say that a triple dog dare was involved," Dewees admitted quietly. "And some cheese doodles."

“Right,” Mikey said, nodding a little. “Thanks,” Frank snagged the underwear in question and grabbed Mikey and took off down the hall to carry on with their wacky scheme.

Pedicone declared, "Still not seeing any of this wacky shit," hoping to absolve himself of any guilt.

Dewees nodded sagely. "Better part of valor."

"What _is_ it with you and food, anyway?" Pedicone asked, thinking about cheese doodles and how most all of Dewees’ stories involved food in one way or another.

Dewees opened his mouth and then went into this long-winded, but sort of beautiful, sort of crazy, rant about the importance of all things tasty. Mike just might’ve been a little endeared, because anyone who loved butter that much couldn’t be all wrong. He couldn’t help thinking, “you know, when he’s not talking about the nastiest shit to eat, he’s really not that bad.”

Hell, for all Pedicone knew, Dewees was thinking something similar like, "if he'd only appreciate something better than a burger, he'd be pretty cool.” But whatever. At least burgers were identifiable as food.

And why were Ray and Gerard so fucked out? Oh. Right. Yeah, still not asking about that either.

 

  
**He Knew that She’d Laugh At Him**   


He’d been holding his cellphone for the better part of twenty minutes, thumb hovering over the call button. She was going to laugh at him. A lot. He’s met her. Hell, he’d laugh at him.

Pedicone took a breath and dialed.

“Is there a betting pool? About this band? And an orgy?” Pedicone asked. Better to just ask everything all at once before he lost his nerve or something. Like a bandaid.

“Well, hi to you too, Mike,” Jamia greeted, laughing her ass off. “Good to hear from you. Yeah, all the girls are great, thanks for asking.”

“Jamia,” he started to apologize.

“Mike,” she had stopped laughing outright, but she still sounded amused as all fuck.

“You just have no idea about. Well. Shit. Christ. It’s like a moanfestival or something. And hanging out with Dewees will get you food tales of woe. And I just,” Mike rambled. Why did he even call her? Why was he even asking? Wasn’t it kind of like the army or something. Don’t ask. Don’t tell. Don’t ask about all the sex going on and you can pretend that everyone loves a very loud massage or something.

“Mike, slow down,” she was back to laughing at him. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he hedged, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yes there is a betting pool about the boys and yes, the orgy is a hot bet right now,” Jamia explained. “There’s also bets about specific pairings and situations. Pete was right about Frank and Mikey for the first leg of the tour even down to the specifics.”

“That explains the text I got. Wait. What specifics?” Mike asked, then backpedaled. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I could probably figure out what Frank may or may not have done. Jesus. Why did I even call you?”

“Because the moaning got too much for even you to ignore,” Jamia joked. “And Dewees talked about platelets, didn’t he?”

“Oh, now I feel nauseous,” Pedicone groaned. “You’re evil.”

“You like it,” Jamia purred.

“Yeah,” Pedicone smiled. “Yeah, I totally do.”

“So, you can’t bet on the orgy for this leg of the tour. It happened last night,” Jamia said.

“That explains staying in the swanky hotel,” Pedicone agreed.

“But the American leg is totally up for grabs,” Jamia offered. “If you want, I’ll send you an email?”

“I’m going to Hell anyway,” Mike chuckled, “might as well go all the way. Fire away. I’ll text you my bet.”

“You can’t bet on anything you’re involved in directly. And we don’t bet with money,” Jamia cautioned.

“Well, of course not,” Pedicone agreed, before comprehension of the second part kicked in. “Wait. No money?”

“Bye, Mike!” Jamia ended the call, leaving Pedicone staring at his phone in confusion and a little bit of horror. He simply refused to owe Pete Wentz any favors of that kind of nature. If it came to that. Just... no.


End file.
